Enough
by Saadie
Summary: Sometimes we do things, say things that we don't mean because we're scared. Sometimes we can't fix the wounds we inflict on others. But we try anyways because we just want to make everything better. It's not perfect, but we can only hope that it'll be enough. Two-shot. Rated for Daryl's potty mouth. Slash, not explicit.


**Enough**

**Part 1 of 2**

**By: Saadie**

**A/N: I don't own any part of "The Walking Dead" nor will I ever, no matter how much I wish otherwise. This fandom has, however, relentlessly drawn me in. I've always been a zombie person. This story is a slash fic, which means there are two men in a relationship. There is, however, no explicit content. I don't want anyone coming to me complaining about how this is slash. You have been warned, if this is not your cup of tea, cut your losses now and stop reading.**

* * *

They had been lying in his tent, taking a rare moment to relax, or as much as you could during the middle of the damned apocalypse, when it happened. Glenn had shifted from his sprawling position; lifting his head from where it had been comfortably pillowed on Daryl's chest, he propped his chin against Daryl's heart and turned dark doe eyes towards his partner. "Daryl?"

Daryl grunted his reply to the soft inquiry but met the Korean's gaze to let him know he was listening.

"I love you."

Daryl could feel all the tension flood back into his body immediately, every muscle instantly wound tighter than his crossbow. Sitting up without any warning, he dislodged Glenn's hold on his body and glared, "What the hell are ya talking about, ya damned chink?"

He could see Glenn curl into himself in the corner of the tent, posture defensive, fear, shock and hurt on clear display across his face. An odd pang echoed in his chest but Daryl stubbornly shoved it all aside and continued onward with his tirade – he was a Dixon dammit, he was not going to give into these pussy feelings. Gods what would Meryl say? His Pa would have skinned him alive for even _touching_ the Korean but it was the damned apocalypse so Daryl had kept telling himself that the pickings were slim and that he didn't actually _care_ for the kid because feelings made you soft and his Pa had beat that out of him long ago.

"Daryl?"

Glenn's soft voice jostled him out of his increasingly dark thoughts, "What are ya still doing here faggot? I ain't one of you, with your pussy _feelings_ and shit. God, I know you like taking it up the ass but that doesn't make you a woman, fucking chink."

Glenn's eyes shuttered and then his gaze shifted until it was blank. It was as if someone had pulled the blinds shut behind them, that _Daryl_ had just reached over and hit the off switch to the kid's normally expressive eyes. Daryl shuddered a little at the emotionless gaze that was now fixed on him but bit back any platitudes that bubbled up in his throat. Dammit he wasn't supposed to care if the kid turned into a robot or not as long as he did his damn job and pulled his weight in camp. A fuck was just a fuck, wasn't it? Besides, this was what he wanted. He had asked the kid to keep his damn pussy feelings to himself, he should be happy that he had followed orders.

_But you're not, are you?_

Daryl squashed the thought immediately and instead moved to pick up the kid's clothes, chucking them at him as violently as he would have liked to beat the shit of that little voice in his head.

He watched as Glenn slowly pulled on his jeans and t-shirt, covering up the numerous love-bites that riddled every inch of smooth skin Daryl had explored.

_Don't go._

He watched as Glenn fiddled with the zipper of his hoodie for a moment before zipping it up half-way like he always did.

_ I'm sorry._

He watched as Glenn stuffed his socks into his pockets instead of bothering to pull them on because he didn't like to wear socks more than he had to.

_ I didn't mean it._

He watched as Glenn jammed that stupid cap back onto his head again, hiding the hair that had been messed up by Daryl's insistent, searching hands.

_ Please._

He watched as Glenn unzipped the entrance to the tent and left without looking back once, leaving the flaps hanging open and the loss all the more tangible.

_Don't leave me._

He sat there for hours, letting the cool night air freeze him half-solid. He sat there until the sun came back out and barely remembered he needed to put some damn clothes back on because Lori would have his hide if Carl came to wake him up and found him naked like this. He went through the motions mechanically and tried to pretend that he didn't feel empty, that seeing Glenn hurt hadn't torn his heartstrings asunder, that seeing that expression or well, complete lack of expression on the kid's face hadn't been the creepiest thing he'd ever seen in his life. He grabbed his crossbow and brushed past Carol, muttering that he was going hunting and tried his damned hardest to pretend that he wasn't just running away so he didn't have to see the kid and that he wasn't trying to get as far as possible from the group before he broke down.

Because he wasn't going to break down, the kid's feelings didn't mean a damn thing to him and he sure as hell didn't feel anything for the kid except for annoyance and contempt. Freaking pollen must have gotten into his eyes because there was no way in hell a Dixon would tear otherwise. And if he curled up at the base of a tree, it was because he was still cold from that morning and he was trying to conserve his body heat. And dammit, he was not thinking about the kid. Not at all.

* * *

The next week was the most awkward week Daryl had ever been through in his entire life, even more so than that first time he had walked in on Meryl and his flavour of the week back when he was only eleven. Everyone in the camp seemed to know that there was something wrong with Glenn and that Daryl had something to do with it.

"_What's wrong with Glenn?"_

_Daryl stared at Carol for a moment before shrugging and half-heartedly snarling, "How the hell should I know? I ain't his damned keeper."_

_But Carol had just given him that __**look**__ that women get sometimes because they always just fucking know things. The look that tells him that she knows he did something and that he was being stubborn and if he would just tell her, she could help him with his problem. And for half a heartbeat, Daryl was seriously tempted to spill his guts and just dump the whole problem in her lap and have her fix it with her weird womanly-voodoo because dammit, even if he would never admit it (because it wasn't true!), he missed having the kid sprawled out beside and on top of him at night and that crappy sleeping bag that was barely big enough for one was suddenly too spacious and too cold. _

_But he hadn't; he'd swallowed his words and stomped off into the woods for another "hunting trip", ignoring that pitying look she shot him._

Things hadn't gotten better though, no matter how much he tried to ignore it. Glenn wouldn't stay in the same general area as him for more than five seconds and when he had to, the younger man refused to speak or look at him. Rick was starting to give him looks – everyone knew that the sheriff was protective of Glenn – and the women vacillated between giving him pitying looks and looking ready to damn him to face the consequences of his own stupidity.

Daryl was pretty sure that no one knew what had actually happened or that they were even involved, but there had been a general consensus that Daryl Dixon and Glenn Rhee had been, against all odds, becoming fast friends. Now that Glenn had suddenly stopped talking to Daryl and politely shut down any mention of the crossbow-toting redneck, the majority of the camp was of the opinion that Daryl had screwed up big time. Heck, Daryl had even caught _Shane_ of all people giving him the evil-eye over Glenn and that bastard didn't care a whit for anyone beyond Lori and Carl.

* * *

And in the quiet of the night, settled upon the RV, halfway through the four am watch, three weeks since Glenn had quietly cut himself out of Daryl's life (_after Daryl had callously kicked Glenn out of his life)_, sitting under the bright August moon, Daryl was struck by how painfully lonely he felt. Not since losing Meryl on that damned rooftop had he felt as alone in this world. Stranded amongst a group of strangers who were fast becoming the family he never had, he had painstakingly cut the closest ties he had to the group when he had lashed out at the kid.

He could finally admit it too. He had lashed out, been fucking terrified of being confronted by whatever feelings he might have had for the Korean. He had bolted at the first sign that what they had between then might become serious, beyond seeking comfort in the closest warm body. He hadn't wanted to admit that the first person he looked for in the morning was Glenn, that he glanced around frantically for the kid after each and every run-in with Walkers, eyes searching for any signs of him possibly losing the kid to the damned apocalypse.

He hadn't wanted to be reminded of that warm feeling in his chest when the kid flashed him that bright smile when he got back from supply runs with something he picked up just for Daryl (because no one else had ever cared enough to go out of their way to make him smile). He hadn't wanted to admit that falling asleep beside the kid and waking up beside him in the morning was the best feeling in the world.

And Daryl knew that he had to fix things because, by God, being away from the kid, remembering that look on his face, knowing that Glenn was staying away of him _because of what he had done_ hurt more than any beating from his Pa ever could. He wishes so damn hard that he would just go back in time and beat up his stupid self for ever saying any of those things to the kid. Could take Glenn back in his arms and beg him to stay and grovel and swear that he never meant any of those things, but he can't.

The sun peaks over the horizon slowly and Daryl realizes he's spent the last few hours brooding over his pathetic relationship. Standing up, he shakes the kinks out of his joints and looks for the first signs of the group waking up. There's a rustle to his left and the sound of a zipper reaches his ears easily through the silent morning air. Glenn's baseball cap peaks out from the opening of his tent and Daryl's eyes zero in on that sliver of skin that shows as Glenn's t-shirt rides up when he stretches. His throat goes dry and he tries to catch Glenn's gaze, tries to convey silently that they need to talk, that he's sorry, that he knows he fucked up.

Except Glenn turns to face the forest as if he knows that Daryl is trying to catch his eye and the sight of the Korean's back causes him to deflate.

For all of his talk of fixing things, Daryl realizes with a resounding pang that he doesn't know how or where to start. And the thought that he'll never be able to fix things hurts just as much if not more than anything else.

* * *

**First Walking Dead fic, not sure how I liked how this turned out. This is definitely my OTP though. Tell me what you guys think!**

**Show some love?**

**Saadie**


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